when I pretend everything is what I want it to be

I look exactly like what you had always wanted to see

Once the boundaries of the Basin had been left far behind, Roland slowed to catch his breath. It seemed impossible, completely out of the question, to travel so far; and yet, he could pay no mind to his own wellbeing when the thought of Lena trapped behind the mirror drove him forwards. Guilt had wedged itself like a blade into his heart, and he cursed himself over and over again, a chorus in the back of his mind as he stumbled down the pathway, willing strength back into his legs. Magic was not worth the struggle it so often required. It was not worth putting those he cared for in harm's way, not worth the damage it caused. He would never forgive himself for daring to hope that he could come away with something valuable and remain unscathed.

He had not forgotten the creature's parting words, replaying her last riddle over in his mind in hopes that he might find some missed instruction within their midst. New looks... Had she given him what he had wished for, what he had searched for?

It was surprisingly easy to draw to a halt on the edge of the path and concentrate, let a new image unfold in his mind and feel a strange ethereal pull, a tidal ripple that coursed over the entirety of his body, and when he looked down it was not to the same bronze sight that had always greeted him, but to a coat of white, and wings upon his sides. They unfolded awkwardly, the sensation of new appendages not quite tangible, like an untrained puppeteer tugging on the strings of his marionette. And when he tried to fly- an incredibly awkward process for one who had not been raised in the art- he found that his wings would not catch the air, that they were not so much a new part of him, grown and woven from the magic he now possessed, as they were a cunning illusion. It was equally as exhilarating as it was daunting, but he wasted little time on the revelation. The fact remained, he would be forced to travel the distance on foot. So he took off at a run again, cursing the creature who had sent him on this chase.

---

Sand.

To his relief, there was no shortage of it in the Dragon's Throat, true to the feline's words. It was a desolate image, not entirely unlike the view of the Basin in winter. White drifts of snow as far as the eye could see was not dissimilar to an ocean of orange dunes sweeping up to a pale blue horizon. The sun was warm against his back, and his skin was slick with sweat. It was strange to know his horn did not arch forth from his brow, and in its absence he had been forced to tuck Lena's gift elsewhere. It had joined the glowing charm wound around his tail, and every once in a while he would cast a glance back to reassure himself of its presence.

He paused before the border to the herd lands, looking out across the bleak landscape that was so alien to him. Where was the satisfaction in living in a dead land? What fruits did it bear that enticed so many to make a home within it? The air was dry, his throat was parched, and he was fatigued from a long and sleepless journey. His legs trembled when he stood still, muscles aching persistently. He cast a look down at his feet, at the sand underneath him, around him, everywhere, and looked up expectantly, wondering what the next move would be.

(200th post! Roland is here to collect sand for a quest. He appears as a pure white Pegasus.)

when I pretend everything is what I want it to be

I look exactly like what you had always wanted to see

 
Roland's gaze had been intent upon scanning the horizon, shimmering like wet ink across the blue expanse of the ocean, like he could reach out and smear it with a single touch. The sand beneath his hooves radiated heat, and while he felt the time passing with an almost physical pain, an inescapable urgency, he came no closer to finding a solution to his dilemma. He kept an eye on the flat expanse around him, taking a moment to catch his breath and ensure that he was not about to be caught unawares by wandering strangers. But he had already been found out, as it happened, and the new arrival came from the direction he least expected: above his head. The sound of a heavy weight hitting the sand with a hiss jerked Roland out of the lingering haze of exhaustion. The wings that had been folded against his sides flared in alarm as he swung his head around to gaze upon the slender form of another feathered creature. A tall colt stood before him, not quite grown into adulthood and boasting the awkward proportions one could expect at that age. The sun shone off his dark coat, and he possessed a bright gaze and light voice that reminded Roland of an old friend.
 
He schooled his features into a careful calm again, no less on edge than he had been before, but the greeting that followed closely on the heels of the boy's sudden appearance, while brusque, was not particularly threatening. The question of a title was a matter not so easily handled. The white stallion was not Roland- not any longer- dressed as he was under a pale guise and feathered mantle. Luckily he was experienced at that sort of thing: turning over a new page, working from a blank slate; a new name, a new life came to the tip of his tongue in a moment's hesitation, barely a breath's pause between question and answer. He had prepared for this, in case he encountered anyone at the edge of the Throat's lands. It was slightly unnerving that he knew so little of the herd beyond the reaches of the water, but a carefully executed interrogation was the last thing on his mind at that particular moment. It would have to wait.
 
When he had first realized the power of his new gift, Roland had been far too distracted with his concern for Lena to waste time in adjusting to the revelation. There was no place for it in a mind consumed with far more pressing matters. But now the realization sank in, meeting a gaze he knew did not land upon his true face, hiding quite literally in plain sight, with the ability to be whoever he wished. What he would have given for such an ability years ago, to obscure himself behind an elaborate mask, to lose himself so completely in a life that was not his own, so that he could never be found. It would have changed the course of his history entirely, washed away so many mistakes that had been caused by carelessness or recognition. He could go anywhere, be anything, and none would know his real face unless he wished them to. It was a dangerous power in the wrong hands.
 
"I am Dmitri," he said, noting that his voice came out just as it always had, a hint of feigned bewilderment under the soft notes of cordiality, but it was of little consequence when he could pitch it deeper, throat already rough and dry from his long journey. He tilted his head, regarding the colt with a slight frown upon his face. The boy had an air of energy about him, a youthful curiousity, and was likely to appreciate a kind voice and agreeable character. If Dmitri wished to depart without any conflict, then he would play the part that would best appease his company. Roland's gaze dropped to the sand, heated beneath his feet, abundant, expansive, eternal, and wondered how he was supposed to explain such a peculiar aspiration. An enigmatic smile curled the edges of his lips as he raised his head to meet the child's inquisitive gaze.
 
"This is going to sound strange, but... I am in need of some sand." He almost winced at the sound of his own words, but his lips twisted as if making an effort to contain a secret. Underneath Dmitri's charade, Roland's heart was still beating at a frantic pace, restless with impatience. He clenched his teeth together. Perhaps the boy would be willing to help, not that he needed much assistance in finding the stuff, but how was he to carry it? And how much did he need, a grain, a pile? A shape caught the corner of his eye as he twisted his head, and Roland turned a surprised eye to the dark shadow stretched across his unnervingly white hide. He had forgotten she was there, still weightless and, for the time being, silent. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for the young colt because of their presence, but he was tired of wasting time. "Do you think you could help me?" He asked, directing the question at the boy, and hoping the feline on his back would get the hint and offer her assistance.